Cause and Effect
by N'kala
Summary: Don is injured in the line of duty, and Charlie can't handle the aftereffects.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Cause and Effect  
Author: N'kala99  
Disclaimer: Not mine!  
Summary: Don is injured in the line of duty, and Charlie can't handle the results.  
Author's Notes: I kind of took some liberties here. I have no idea what their mother's name is or anything like that. My numbers are a little contrived, too. The camera on the episode last Friday got a pretty good shot at Don's license, which helped me draw out possible ages for everyone. 

Cause and Effect  
Chapter One

In the blink of an eye, Charlie's world fell apart.

One of the remaining gunmen was crouched down behind a tall pillar, taking shots at anything that moved. Cops and federal agents were trying desperately to get closer to the besieged warehouse, using vehicles and walls to shield themselves from the onslaught of bullets. The fire fight had been going on for almost half an hour, with neither side gaining the upper hand. It looked as if a stalemate would happen long before victory.

But no one saw that gunman.

Several more men were shooting their guns from windows and the delivery access doors, hoping to blast their way to an escape. None of the good guys had been hurt yet, and several of the drug smugglers had fallen victim to a well-aimed bullet. Hidden safely in one of the FBI's bulletproof vans that was parked away from the gunfight, Charlie could see his brother leading a few agents closer to the building. They were crouched low; it looked as though no one had seen them yet.

But no one saw that gunman.

The shots continued. More smugglers fell, lessening the deafening blasts. The police were closing in. The fight had turned in their favor, and it looked as if they would soon snatch that elusive victory. Snipers on the building across the street from the warehouse were taking out the remaining shooters at a steady rate. From the van, Charlie watched as Don waved at his team to follow him. He turned and ran, crouched low, straight for the side of the warehouse.

But no one saw that gunman.

Except Charlie.

Don turned to face his team, opening his mouth to say something, but whatever words he had died on his lips as he suddenly jerked to one side. A red stain blossomed on his shoulder, just before his Kevlar vest began. Don gripped his arm and fell to one knee, looking back at the man who had shot him.

The other agents raised their weapons and began to fire, but were driven down to the ground by return fire. Don, gritting his teeth, shouted an order that must have been retreat. A few of the agents backed away behind the safety of dumpsters and cars. Terry Lake, who Charlie couldn't remember seeing as a part of the team, tried to drag Don with her. Don shook her off forcefully.

The rest of the smugglers had been subdued, but Charlie noticed none of it. His wide, fearful eyes were locked firmly on the terrible scene playing out before him.

The gunman was taking careful aim around the pillar, the barrel of his gun pointed right at Don and Terry.

The next few seconds happened in slow motion for Charlie.

The gun fired, a slight flare of light preceding the bullet as it exited the clip and flew towards Don. Charlie watched in absolute horror as Don jerked again, pain exploding on his face. His big brother- the only person he had looked up to in his life, the person Charlie had desperately wanted to be proud of him- slid slowly down to the ground, leaving a trail of thick, red blood on the wall behind him.

Charlie sat completely frozen for a full minute as the shock of what he had just seen sank in. Gasping for breath, he forced himself out of the van onto shaky legs and began to run towards his brother.

Another agent finally took out the gunman, but it was too late. Charlie raced past several officers, dodging cars, and pushed onward towards the scene. Agents and police officers were crowding around Don . . . Charlie couldn't see him now. Their words reached his ears in a jumble, some breaking free into comprehending statements.

"Call the medics!"

"Get the EMTs here now!"

"Officer down."

_Officer down_. No . . .

A tall, immovable mass suddenly jumped in front of Charlie, catching him before he could force his way through the crowd. Arms wrapped around Charlie and held him still, despite the young genius' thrashing.

"Let me go!" Charlie demanded, his voice breaking into near hysteria. "I want to see my brother! I want to see Don!"

"Charlie, stay back." It was David Sinclair. Charlie barely registered his recognition, so intent was he on finding Don. "We'll take care of him. You need to let us do our job."

"No!" Charlie yelled, struggling harder. "Don! Where is he? Don!"

Through several of the bodies, Charlie could just see a form slumped on the ground. Terry was hovering over it, her hands and cheek stained red. Sensing his eyes, she looked up. Their gazes locked; Charlie's eyes holding denial and fear, Terry's answering with pain and worry.

Charlie stopped struggling abruptly, causing David to loosen his grip in surprise. Charlie backed away, slowly shaking his head.

"No . . . he can't be . . ." Tears rose and spilled onto Charlie's face. A sharp pain stabbed into his stomach, and bile rose into his throat. A million thoughts went through Charlie's head, but only two were foremost on his mind.

_Don was dead_.

_I killed him._

Charlie turned and ran.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

When you got right down to it, most hospitals all looked the same. Plain walls, tired, overworked, but somewhat cheerful nursing staff, elusive doctors, sterile rooms . . . it seemed as though these were standard. And despite the familiarity, it still made Alan Eppes' skin crawl with discomfort.

Alan never liked hospitals. He hated them as a boy when he had to stay and have his tonsils removed. He hated them as a teenager, when his best friend had been seriously injured in a car accident. They were uncomfortable when his boys were being born, but Alan went right back to hating them when his wife died. And now, knowing that his eldest son might share that fate, Alan found himself hating them even more.

The waiting room on the operating floor was crammed full of agents still clad in Kevlar vests, all milling about for some word about Don. Alan paused and scanned the room, hoping to see a familiar face.

"Mr. Eppes."

Alan glanced to his right as a tall African American agent not much older than Charlie approached him. He had to think for a minute before the name clicked into place.

"David," Alan greeted, barely keeping a lid on his fear. "What have they said? What's happened? How's Don?"

David led him to a corner of the room where Alan could see Terry sitting, her eyes fixed on the clock over the nurses' station.

"The EMTs got to us pretty quickly, which helped," David answered. "They managed to stabilize him. He took one bullet in the shoulder, and another entered his neck. They're working on him right now."

Alan nodded numbly, sinking into a chair. He looked around again. "Where's Charlie? I thought he was helping you on this case."

David hesitated. "He did . . . he was at the scene . . . he saw it happen."

Ice flooded through Alan's veins. "He _what_? David, where is he?"

David shook his head. "I don't know. He tried to get to Don's side, but I stopped him. Then he froze for a minute, then took off. I have no idea where he went."

Alan had a few possibilities in mind, and he filed them away. He wanted to go look for Charlie, but his concern for the survival of his other child weighed heavily in his mind.

David seemed to read Alan's mind. "Does Charlie have any friends that might be able to find him?"

Alan nodded. "Larry. At the university. I'll give him a call, he can find Charlie and bring him here."

He began to rise, but David waved him down. "Give me the number, and I'll call. You can wait for the doctor."

Alan observed the agent for a moment, then nodded. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a business card that Charlie had given him. It had his office number, and it had Larry's, in case Alan couldn't reach Charlie. Alan handed it to David with a grateful look, and leaned back against the molded, plastic chairs to wait.

* * *

Charlie ran through the streets, oblivious to the strange looks and honking of passing motorists. All he could think of was that he had to get away . . . he had to run.

_Don was dead._

It was supposed to be a relatively simple case. Don had approached Charlie a week ago, asking for help with some inconsistent data that was troubling them. They were working on the smuggling case, but they were having trouble finding where the smugglers were hiding. There had been a discrepancy in the electrical output on some of the warehouses in the industrial part of Los Angeles, and Don had wanted Charlie to straighten it out. It had taken some time, and quite a few calls to track down several city workers, but in the end, Charlie had found the right building.

Unfortunately.

_Don was dead_.

Charlie turned sharply and ran through a park, dodging families out for a stroll. He was suddenly assaulted by a memory from what seemed like ages ago.

_"Donnie! Wait up!"_

_Don stopped and turned, exasperated. "Charlie, just go play! I'm gonna go hang out with my friends, and I don't want you bugging us!"_

_Charlie slowed, then stopped. A hurt look blossomed over his face. They had all come to the park for some quality family time. Their parents were busy cleaning up their lunch, and had told the boys to play. Don, already fourteen, despised the enforced 'family time' and had asked his friends to meet him at the park. He certainly didn't want his baby brother tagging along._

_The five-year-old felt his lip tremble as his heart broke. He couldn't understand why his big brother didn't like him. He watched as Don spun around and continued away from him._

_A sudden weight slammed into Charlie, and he cried out as he fell to the ground. He tried to get up, but the weight was holding him in place._

_"Not so smart down there, are you?"_

_Charlie froze at the voice. He turned his head to the side, trying to look up into the face of Dylan Miller, the boy who bullied him relentlessly at school._

_"Get off, Dylan!" Charlie yelled, his voice high pitched with pain._

_"Make me, runt," Dylan retorted._

_Charlie didn't have a chance to reply. Someone barreled into Dylan, knocking him off of Charlie and into the dirt. Charlie immediately rolled to his feet and looked at his savior._

_Don stood between Dylan and Charlie, his fists clenched at his sides. Charlie overcame his shock and moved closer to Don, one tiny hand grasping the back of Don's shirt._

_"Sticking up for the runt again, Don," Dylan taunted, climbing to his feet. "Don't you get tired of defending him?"_

_"Don't call him a runt," Don ordered. "And if you so much as look at him again, you're gonna be counting teeth. You got me?"_

_"Whatever." Dylan tossed Charlie a glare and stalked off._

_Don waited until he had moved farther off, then turned around to meet his brother's wide, awestruck eyes. The irritation he had felt earlier wore off, and he smiled._

_"Come on, buddy," he said, playfully ruffling Charlie's mop of curls. "Let's go play on the swings."_

Charlie let out a sharp gasp and stopped, falling to his knees. He clutched at his stomach, fighting down the sobs that were starting to break free. His brother had always looked after him, kept him safe. And how had he repaid that?

_Don was dead_.

Looking up, Charlie tried to figure out where he was. He hadn't paid much attention when he had run away, and he had no idea where he was. Or where he wanted to go. He couldn't go to the university. He couldn't go to the hospital. He couldn't go home.

Home.

"Oh, God . . ." Charlie leaned over and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pristine grass in front of him. His father had barely been able to withstand the death of his mother. How would he take knowing that Don was dead, too?

And that he was responsible.

Charlie's skin crawled as he staggered to his feet. He had to get out of here. He had to go . . .

The solution fell into Charlie's mind, and he knew immediately that it was the perfect one. His decision made, he began to stagger towards the street to get his bearings.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

"Don Eppes?"

The agents clustered close to the doctor, but were careful to allow Alan a clear path. Alan planted himself directly in the doctor's line of sight. "My son. How is he? Is he all right?"

"The bullet wound to the shoulder was through and through," the doctor answered. "Nothing serious. The second bullet entered near his carotid, ricocheted off his collar bone, passed through his right lung and exited the front of his chest. He lost a lot of blood, but we managed to get to him in time. Don is resting comfortably in Recovery, and as soon as we move him to his own room, you can go see him."

"So he's going to be okay?" Alan asked, hardly daring to hope.

The doctor smiled and nodded. "Don's going to be just fine. He should make a full recovery in about a month."

Warm, wonderful relief swept through Alan. He closed his eyes and nodded, then returned to his chair. Leaning forward, he rubbed his face and took several deep breaths.

He felt someone take the seat beside him, and he opened his eyes and looked over at Terry. She was smiling faintly, relief plain on her face. Alan returned the grin, causing Terry's smile to widen.

David moved closer to them, drawing their eyes. "Now that we know Don't gonna be okay, some of the guys want to get back to work processing the scene. We want to nail the rest of these assholes that survived."

Terry nodded.

"Oh, David," Alan said suddenly. "Has there been any word on Charlie?"

David shook his head. "I haven't heard anything."

Alan frowned, his concern for his youngest starting to increase. He was starting to worry about Charlie's whereabouts, but until he saw Don with his own eyes, he still didn't want to leave.

"I'm going to give Larry a call," he decided finally. Bidding David goodbye, Alan moved down the hall towards the payphones. Dropping in his pocket change, he dialed Larry's number. Receiving no answer except the voicemail rattling off a cell number, Alan hung up and tried the cell. Larry answered on the second ring.

"Larry, have you seen Charlie?" Alan demanded.

"Mr. Eppes, no, I haven't," Larry replied. "I've searched his office, the math building, checked with Amita . . . he's nowhere on the entire campus. Do you know of anyplace else he might be?"

"He might be at home, working on that p thing," Alan told Larry. "Could you go over and look? He really should be here."

"Of course, Mr. Eppes," Larry replied. "And how-how is Don?"

"He's going to be fine," Alan answered. "Thanks, Larry, I really appreciate the help."

He hung up in the middle of Larry's stammered response and moved back into the waiting room. Suddenly, the pale walls seemed much warmer.

* * *

It was quiet. Peaceful. Deserted. Perfect.

Charlie looked around, hoping to find the right direction. He hadn't been here in nearly a year. He was relying on his memory to find it.

The smooth, concrete road was more forgiving on his tired, aching soles than the gravel he had traveled on for the last few miles. The grass was a brilliant green, kept neatly trimmed and even. Flowers in colors echoed in a million rainbows surrounded the tall gray stones that lined each walkway like obedient soldiers. Charlie hesitated on one path, then moved on.

After nearly fifteen minutes, Charlie finally reached his destination. He fell to his knees before another tall stone, running his fingers longingly over the words etched delicately on it.

_Mary Elizabeth Eppes  
Beloved Wife and Mother_

_1947-2004_

Tears poured down Charlie's cheeks as grief tore into his heart. Bending down so low that his nose nearly touched the ground, he finally let his sobs consume him.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four 

Alan followed the doctor through the halls, anxious to finally see Don. The doctor seemed to be taking his time, and it was all Alan could do to keep from yelling at him to pick up the pace.

The doctor finally pointed out Don's room, and Alan brushed past him. He hurried inside, stopping when his son finally filled his view.

Don was lying asleep in bed, wearing a hospital gown. White gauze peeked out from the right sleeve. A number of machines were connected to his son, most of which Alan recognized. A steady, strong pulse filled the air, sending a calm feeling through Alan.

Almost hesitantly, Alan sank into a chair beside Don's bed and reached for Don's hand. Gripping it tightly, he said a silent prayer of thanks that his son was all right.

A few hours passed before a gentle knock drew Alan's attention away from the slumbering form of his son. He turned around, wondering who it could be.

Larry hovered uncertainly in the doorway, eyes flickering from Don and Alan.

"I, uh, sorry to disturb you, sir," Larry stammered. "How's he doing?"

"He's sleeping," Alan replied, standing. "Where's Charlie? Is he outside?"

"That's, um, what I wanted to tell you," Larry stated. "I couldn't find him."

"What?" Alan asked, his voice raised slightly.

Larry jumped. "I searched the school, your house, several diners and hang outs that I know Charles frequents. Amita called several other students, but we can't find him."

Alan's heart leapt into his throat. "Could something have happened to him? Where the hell could he be?"

Larry shrugged. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm worried about him, too. Could there be anyplace else he might have gone?"

Alan thought hard for several moments, then finally shook his head. "Not that I know of."

Larry glanced at Don again, then looked back to Alan. "I'll keep looking, and I'll call as soon as I know anything."

"Thank you, Larry," Alan replied. As he sank back into his chair and reclaimed Don's hand, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened. Charlie didn't have that many friends, and tended to stick fairly close to school and home. If Charlie had been as agitated as David had described, then Charlie could be anywhere.

Alan didn't like that thought.

* * *

Terry hovered over the blood stains outside of the warehouse where Don had fallen, replaying that awful scene in her mind. No matter how hard she tried to bury herself in the work, she couldn't stop seeing her partner slide bonelessly to the ground, blood spilling on the unforgiving concrete.

"Agent Lake?"

Terry shook herself from her thoughts and turned. She frowned at the man standing behind her. He looked oddly familiar.

"Dr. Larry Fleindhart," he introduced himself, wringing his hands. "We met awhile back. I'm a friend of Charles'."

Terry's expression cleared with her confusion. "Oh, yes. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Actually, yes," Larry replied. "I'm having trouble locating Charles, and I was wondering if you could provide some assistance."

Terry glanced at the other agents, who were finishing up their evidence gathering. Looking back at Larry, she nodded. Maybe looking for Charlie would help her forget about Don.

At least for awhile.

Larry smiled, relieved. He quickly told her what he had told Alan, finishing with, "I thought maybe we could start where he was last seen and go from there."

"Sounds good," Terry agreed. She nodded down the road. "He ran that way, last I saw him today."

The two began their trek down the road in silence.

* * *

Charlie's sobs had finally abated, leaving him feeling weak and exhausted. He sat down beside his mother's tombstone, leaning heavily against it as if seeking solace from her, even from beyond the grave. He hugged his knees tightly, his eyes staring blankly ahead. The horrible scene from earlier that day played in an endless loop in his mind, accompanied every so often by memories from the past of his brother.

Graduation day.

_Don was dead._

Don trying to teach him how to defend himself.

_Don was dead._

The two boys wrestling for Charlie's chalk as Don tried to convince Charlie to take a break from math.

_Don was dead._

Don's comforting arm around his shoulders at their mother's funeral.

_Don was dead._

His last birthday. Don had convinced Alan to throw a surprise birthday party right under his nose.

_Don was dead._

_Don was dead._

_Don was dead._

_I killed him.

* * *

_

"Do you really think Charlie would have made it this far?" Terry asked. "I mean, he could have turned off at any road. What makes you think he would have made it here?"

"As Charles is so fond of saying, math has to do with everything," Larry answered. "And Charles, bless him, is the perfect example of that. In his state of mind, he ran a prefect straight line from the road out to this park. No random turns. He would have come through this way."

"Okay," Terry grudgingly agreed. "But where would he go from here? I don't see him."

"I was hoping maybe you could answer that," Larry admitted.

Terry grinned slightly, despite herself. She looked around the park, trying to get into Charlie's head. Think what he would have thought.

"A park . . . this afternoon, there would have been a lot of families, right?" Terry asked.

Larry nodded, looking around. There weren't many around now, but the sun was setting and any young families would be sitting down to dinner by now.

"Charlie would have been thinking of Don, seeing the families, maybe thinking of his own family," Terry continued, mumbling to herself. She took a few steps forward, still processing her thoughts. Suddenly, she whirled around to face Larry, her eyes wide.

"I think I know where he might have gone," she said. "But it's too far to walk. Let's go back for my car."

Larry could barely keep up.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

"Mmm . . ."

Alan sat up sharply, his eyes searching Don's face. "Don? Son, can you hear me?"

Don's head turned slightly, and he moaned again. His eyes flickered, finally opening. He gasped, reaching up to clutch at his chest. Pain-filled brown eyes sought out his father.

"Dad?" he asked, his voice faint. "What's going on?"

Alan smiled widely, gently cupping Don's face. "You were shot, son, but you're going to be okay. The doctors fixed you up."

"The bust?" Don wanted to know.

"Is taken care of," Alan finished. "Don't worry about work just now."

Don's eyes left Alan and searched the room. "Where's Charlie? I left him at the scene. Where is he?"

"He's fine," Alan assured Don. "You worry about getting better. All right?"

Don, too tired to catch the deflection, settled back against his pillow. His eyes slid shut as if against his will, and he fought to keep them open.

"I 'member . . ." he mumbled.

"Remember what, Donnie?" Alan asked.

"I 'member . . . I heard Charlie calling my name . . ." Don's voice became softer.

Alan began to thread his fingers through his son's hair. "Go to sleep, Don. Everything will be okay when you wake up."

The lull of Alan's strokes sent Don quickly back into slumber. Alan continued to brush his fingers through Don's hair, wanting to soothe his son's pain. He glanced up at the clock, taking note of the climbing hour and hoping that Charlie was indeed all right.

* * *

Terry stopped her car outside of the cemetery and climbed out. Larry followed suit, looking distinctly uncomfortable to be there. Nevertheless, he followed Terry through the gates and down the manicured path.

"Are you sure you know which way to go?" Larry asked her.

"I'm sure," Terry replied softly. "I was here last year."

She had gone to support Don during his mother's death, but had been unable to be anything more than another sorrowful look. She only hoped that she could help Don more now, through helping Charlie.

As they neared Mary Eppes' grave, they slowed their pace. They could just make out a figure huddled against the tombstone in the waning daylight. The figure's face was hidden from view, but the mess of dark curls was unmistakable.

Terry and Larry broke into a jog, hurrying over to the young man and kneeling beside him. Terry placed a gentle hand on his back.

"Charlie?" she called softly. "Charlie, are you all right? We've been looking all over for you."

Charlie didn't move. Terry looked at Larry, confusion on her face.

"Charles, can you hear me?" Larry asked.

No response.

Terry reached out and tried to brush Charlie's hair away from his face. "Charlie, we're here to take you to the hospital. Come on, I have my car waiting."

Charlie still didn't move.

"What's wrong with him?" Larry asked.

"I can't tell without looking at him properly, but I think he's catatonic," Terry replied. "I'd rather not call an ambulance out here if we can help it."

"How do you suggest we get him to respond?" Larry asked.

Terry pulled out her cell phone.

* * *

"They found Charlie _where_?"

Alan looked at David incredulously as David guided his car through the streets towards the cemetery. "Are you sure? Charlie hasn't been there since the funeral."

"All I know is that Terry called and told me where she was," David told Alan. "She found him, but she's having trouble getting him to talk to her. It might be the shock from earlier today."

Alan nodded. He hadn't wanted to leave Don's side; the terror of nearly losing Don was still fresh in his mind. But his baby boy needed him, and he would do everything in his power to help.

David had barely parked his car beside Terry's when Alan was out and on his way to his wife's grave. Unlike Charlie, he had been here several times and knew exactly where he was going.

He found Terry and Larry kneeling on the ground beside Charlie, still trying to get him to talk. The sight of his youngest son, huddled by his wife's grave, tore at Alan's heart. He went to Charlie's side and sat down in front of him, barely paying any notice to the others.

"Charlie." Alan cupped a hand behind Charlie's neck. "Charlie, look at me."

No response.

"Charlie, it's me," Alan continued. "It's Dad. I need you to look at me."

"He might not be able to hear you, Mr. Eppes," Terry offered.

Alan glanced at her, then turned back to Charlie. With both hands, he gently lifted Charlie's head up until he could see Charlie's eyes. What he found sent a cold chill down his spine.

The usual spark of intelligence and ever-present naiveté was gone from his son's eyes, leaving behind a pair of cold, empty brown orbs. Alan's thumb brushed against Charlie's cheek, detecting the remains of what could only be tears, and he felt his heart break.

"Oh, Charlie . . ." With some difficulty, he pulled Charlie close to him, drawing him into a tight hug. Charlie fell limply against Alan, supported only by his father's strong arms. Alan held Charlie close, rocking him from side to side.

Terry, David, and Larry watched uncomfortably, unwilling to leave, but not quite sure what to do. Alan ignored them, focusing wholly on his baby boy.

Suddenly, Alan felt something dampen his shirt, and he looked down to see tears falling from Charlie's eyes. They didn't look quite so empty, but the spark was still missing. Encouraged by the sign of life, Alan kissed the top of his son's head and leaned his cheek atop the curls.

"It's okay, Charlie . . . it's all right . . . I'm here."

His words penetrated the fog in Charlie's mind, and he gave a start and pushed away from his father. Alan was too startled to resist, and watched as Charlie fell back against his mother's tombstone, hugging himself tightly.

"Charlie," Alan started.

Charlie's eyes were wide with a wildness no one could recognize. "No . . . you can't be here . . ."

"Where else would I be, Charlie?" Alan asked cautiously.

Charlie shook his head violently. Alan tried to reach for him, but stopped when Charlie jerked back as if burned. He pushed himself away from the crowd, looking around like a wild animal trapped in a corner.

"Charlie, we need to go to the hospital," Alan said, trying a different tactic. "Don's there. You should go see him."

Charlie shook his head again, even more forcefully this time. "No . . . I saw . . . I can't . . . not again . . ."

"What are you talking about, Charlie?" Terry asked quietly.

Charlie grabbed his hair, his knuckles white with the pressure. He fell back against the tombstone, trembling. He was muttering something, but it was too soft to make out.

"What, Charlie?" Alan asked. "What are you saying?"

Charlie didn't move, but his voice grew a little louder. "Sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . . it's all my fault . . .I'm sorry . . ."

"What's all your fault, Charlie?" Terry prompted.

"I . . . I killed Don . . ."

A deafening silence fell over the spectators; no one knew how to respond. Charlie shook against the tombstone, the sounds of his heart-wrenching apologizes broken by sobs rising to their ears.

"Oh my God." Alan moved closer to Charlie and forced his son's face into view. "Charlie, you listen to me. You did not kill Don. You could never hurt your big brother. You love him too much to hurt him."

"I-It was my equation that led him there!" Charlie insisted, losing control of his emotions. "It was my fault he was there! I killed him! I . . . oh God . . ."

He broke down into sobs, unable to speak anymore. Tears poured down Alan's cheeks as he pulled Charlie, now unresisting, into a crushing embrace.

"Charlie, you didn't kill Don," Alan said firmly. "Don's not dead. He's in the hospital. He's going to be fine. Can you hear me? Don's not dead. He's fine. He asked about you. He wants to see you."

The sobs gradually tapered off, Charlie's breath coming in as hitches. "Don's . . . Don's not dead?" The voice was that of a hopeful little boy.

Alan tightened his hug. "Don's not dead. He's going to be fine."

He felt Charlie's hand clutch at his shoulder. He knew Charlie wanted to see Don, but he also knew that Charlie's guilt would hold him back from asking.

He decided to give Charlie a window. "Come on. I'm gonna take you to go see him. He'll be so glad to see you."

Alan stood, helping Charlie to shaky feet. Charlie still looked a little shell-shocked, his face red and stained with tears. With a firm arm around his son, Alan led Charlie down the path to the cars with the agents and Larry in tow.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six 

"Mr. Eppes!"

Alan paused in his walk to Don's hospital room and turned to face a nurse that was approaching from the station. Under his arm, Charlie fidgeted nervously, and he gave Charlie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Yes?" Alan asked.

The woman paused, barely glancing at Charlie, or the three people standing with them. "We could use your help with your son."

Fear struck the group, but Charlie was the first to speak. "Wh-What's wrong? Is he okay? Is Don all right?"

The woman gave Charlie a closer look and smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm sorry, Don's fine. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Then why do you need my help?" Alan wanted to know.

"Don woke up not too long after you left, and he refuses to go back to sleep or take any of his pain medications until he knows where you went," the nurse answered. "He really should be resting right now."

Alan nodded. "We'll take care of it right now."

The nurse thanked him and walked away.

"We'll wait out here for you," David stated.

"Thank you," Alan replied, his eyes conveying everything he meant to say.

The walk to Don's room was made in silence. The closer they drew, the more Alan felt Charlie tense up and slow down, as if to run away again. He squeezed Charlie's shoulder again and guided him into Don's room.

Don looked immediately their way, his face lighting up in relief. "Dad! Where have you been?"

"Retrieving your brother," Alan replied, depositing Charlie into the chair by Don's bed and hovering protectively behind him.

Don's eyes fell on his brother, and he frowned in concern. "Hey, buddy. Where've you been?"

Charlie's eyes were fixed on his shoes.

Don looked up at Alan in confusion, who comfortingly dropped his hands on Charlie's shoulders.

"Charlie?" Don prodded.

Charlie still didn't look up, but his timid voice reached the elder Eppes' ears. "I'm sorry, Donnie . . ."

Don's frown deepened. "Sorry? Why?"

Charlie sniffled. "It was my fault that you got shot . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

"Charlie . . . it wasn't your fault," Don said. "You just helped me and my team crack the case. You didn't shoot me."

"But I sent you to the place where you got shot!" Charlie pointed out. "If I hadn't done that . . ."

"Then I would have found the warehouse on my own eventually and gotten shot anyway," Don finished firmly. "Charlie, when I ask you for help, that's what I get from you. Help. You help us crack some pretty big cases. Anything bad that happens on the cases isn't your fault or anyone else's but the criminals. Hey. Look at me."

Charlie lifted his head and looked at Don shyly through red-rimmed eyes.

Don reached a hand out to Charlie, which Charlie took. "I got shot, buddy. Unfortunately, that can happen in my line of work. But you were no way involved in my getting shot. You hear me?"

Charlie nodded, tears sparkling in his eyes.

"C'mere," Don said, tugging on Charlie's hand. Charlie obediently went to Don and accepted the hug that his brother drew him into. Charlie closed his eyes tightly and held onto his brother, finally convincing himself that Don was okay.

After several minutes, Charlie finally withdrew and swiped at his eyes. Don smiled at him.

"Wanna stick around and watch some TV with me?" he asked.

Charlie smiled softly, nodding.

Alan retreated as he watched Charlie maneuver his chair closer to his brother's bed and focus on the television. Their soft conversation filled the room, and Alan smiled. He knew he would have to spend more time with Charlie, to help him work through some of his feelings, but he knew that simply spending time with his big brother was a big step forward in the healing process.

THE END


End file.
